


Once Upon a Summer

by theconstantprincess



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theconstantprincess/pseuds/theconstantprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark’s journey home set against the backdrop of lyrics from “Once Upon a December” from the film, Anastasia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ this](http://catofthecanals.com/post/63215378467/anastasia-ii-arya-stark-parallels-home-love).

_Dancing bears, painted wings_  
 _Things I almost remember_  
 _And a song someone sings_  
 _Once upon a December_

Some nights the wolf dreams weren’t the only dreams plaguing her sleep. Woven within the howling of wolves and the smell of fresh prey were dreams of a grand hall and a beautiful high chair made from the weirwood trees she had tried her hardest to find, but never could. Some nights the weirwood throne became the face of a man she could never seem to forget. His eyes were as grey as her own, and his face, always so solemn and withdrawn to others, was bright and crinkling from his quiet and adoring laughs. “Arya my sweet,” he would say, “you are much too wild for your own good.” Those dreams were always the worst; she’d wake with a desperate ache in her empty chest and a fading dream that left her on the precipice of wanting something she would never again be able to have.  _Was it a dream?_  she would ask herself, but she knew the answer deep in that empty place inside of her. It was no dream, it was worse than that. It was a memory. 

* * *

 

_Someone holds me safe and warm_  
 _Horses prance through a silver storm_  
 _Figures dancing gracefully_  
 _Across my memory_

The little girl had been playing with the ice that had fallen from the mast of the ship. The girl’s mother had forbade her from touching it, but the child was willful and began to cry just as soon as she slipped on the ice. Before her mother could berate her, a boy, only a little older than Arya herself, wrapped the young girl in his arms and carried her away all the while whispering words of comfort and solace. Something stirred on the edge of her consciousness. Another little girl, willful and wild, adamant that her clothes should not be folded for they would be dirtied anyway. There had been an older boy as well; a boy that had the same eyes and face as her own, but not the same name. He had looked at her so lovingly, so amused at his little sister’s indignation. She remembered the absolute happiness she felt when he had given her her needle. It was a short-lived happiness, for they were parting and unsure of when they would see each other again. “Different roads lead to the same castle,” he had told her, given her words of comfort and promises of hope. She had jumped into his arms then, feeling so loved and protected for just that instant. A summer snow had been falling as they set out on their two different paths. The black of his clothes fading into the white mist was a sight she had tried to forget. “I’ll miss you little sister,” he had said to her.  _I’m coming home to you brother, I swear it._  She could see him smiling at that, reaching to muss her hair once again; but just as quickly as it had appeared, the ghost of the memory was gone. And in its place were the thin threads of a life that she had desperately tried to hold on to, a life that no longer belonged to her.

* * *

 

_Far away, long ago,_  
 _Glowing dim as an ember,_  
 _Things my heart_  
 _Used to know,_  
 _Things it yearns to remember…_

She felt his eyes on her as she stared into the dying flames of the fire. “What are you thinking of?” They had been traveling for weeks in the thick of winter, as impossible as it may have been, but she didn’t care. She had to go home, and he was too stubborn to let her make the journey on her own. They hadn’t spoken as much as they once would, not for true, but they had bickered and fought as if the past hadn’t happened. It was something that had once caused her annoyance, but she treasured the small bit of normalcy he could give her. “I’m trying to remember a story Old Nan would tell my brothers and I. It was some story about a knight fighting a sea monster, much too violent for my sister, but my brothers and I had loved it.” It was hard for her, to piece together that time. A time when she had brothers to play with, a sister to fight with, and parents to love. She wanted to remember everything of that night; the feel of the furs they sat on, the smell of the cool Winterfell air, the sounds of Old Nan’s soft voice filling the room they had gathered in. “We were in Robb’s room and there was a fire that was much the same as this one.” Her eyes left the dying fire and met his gaze, “its all I can remember now. Just a few things here and there. I can’t even remember the story.” She felt stupid, ashamed, and the tears came freely, threatening to fill the emptiness and drown her whole. She felt Gendry grasp her hands between his own, felt the pressure he put on them, a soothing act of comfort and an anchor amidst the sea of her endless grief. It was something Jon might’ve done, had he been with her. “You have the memories, even if you can’t remember them all, you know they’ll stay with you for always. That’s all that matters.” 

* * *

_And a song_  
 _Someone sings_  
 _Once upon a December_

"We would do well to stop at the next inn and rest, the journey to White Harbor will be a rough go." The inn keeper could not keep the displeasure from his voice at the sight of his guests. "What business does a man and his woman have wandering about in this snow? This is a respectable establishment. I don’t want no troubles." Arya bit her lip to keep from laughing at the scowl that had covered Gendry’s face. "We gave you the money, now give us a room." He stood to his full height, looking dangerous and nothing at all like the stubborn bull he was. Their room was an ice cage, like the ones Jon would describe to her on the nights he’d heard  _bastard_  too many a time. It was as if the room had never seen a sight so wondrous as a roaring fire, but it was better than the harsh winter winds numbing the parts of her that she hadn’t already numbed herself.

"We’ll have to share the furs to keep warm m’lady." She could see his mouth twitch at that, just as it had the day he’d found out she was Lady Arya of House Stark, not Arry the orphan boy from Kings Landing. "Don’t call me that you stupid!" Some things never changed, but she couldn’t help the small smile that graced her frozen face when she thought about why he’d called her a lady. Back then it would have been from a place of anger, or bitterness at the chasm that divided their places in life, but now she could see he just wanted to get a rise from her. _Stupid bull-headed boy_ , she thought with a new found fondness for his infuriating ways. “Well what are you waiting for? Get under the furs.” “As m’lady commands.” She punched his shoulder for that.

The furs were warm, but the feel of Gendry’s arms around her gave her a warmth she didn’t think was possible. It wasn’t the first time they had shared furs, nor slept beside each other, yet somehow this time felt different. She turned in his arms to look upon his shadowed face. “Arya I.. I want you to know that I won’t leave this time. But I need you to tell me the same.” She knew what he meant even if he didn’t say it outright. He didn’t want her to leave  _him_  again. “You know I didn’t have a choice the last time Gendry. I had to make for Riverrun, I had to get back to Robb and mother. They were my family.” She made sure to grab a hold of his face and look straight into his eyes, feeling the familiar indignation of a girl she long thought was gone, “and so are you.” She felt him shift and before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers and her eyes closed at the feeling of being wanted, of being cherished, a feeling that she had only felt in her faded memories. It was a sweet kiss, a kiss of promise; a promise that she’d have new memories to remember one day, a promise that she would never again be alone, even if the only family that remained to her was dead. That night she fell asleep to the songs of her pack, to her other half howling into the depths of winter. She closed her eyes to the sweet music, and she was home. 

_Finis._


End file.
